


The Hour Is Late

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Post COTBP, anti-whelp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: 5 years Post CotBP. When Elizabeth Turner, debutante turned blacksmith's wife, goes missing for two days in a storm Governor Swann begs the aid of Commodore Norrington. James has an inkling of where she has gone, but not what a changed woman he will find. Norribeth. Now COMPLETE!





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fairly certain this is snowbryneich's fault, and I mean that in the best way possible. ;) Thank you for inspiring an endless supply of plot bunnies, hon!
> 
> A/N: I’m pretty certain I’m taking some extreme liberties with Port Royal’s geography. Like there’s the town and the isthmus connecting it to land that I assume is about sea level, and the mountains are to the East…I don’t know where I always get this towering bluff from but it’s totally become part of my headcanon in this fic verse. Deal with it. ;)

# I.

 

The plea for help came late in the afternoon by way of a footman soaked to the bone, dressed in the livery of the Governor’s household. The summer storms were upon them in Jamaica and the rain had not relented for three days. James was not alarmed at first; correspondence between the fort and King’s House was a normal occurrence in his office. James broke the seal with no great urgency and began to read, and it was not until his eyes settled upon _her_ name that a tremor ran through his usually steadfast hands.

Elizabeth was missing, and according to her husband had been for two days.

_In this weather…_

James Norrington was a man who a frantic Governor Swann had called upon quite frequently to find his missing daughter in the child’s youth. However, now she was married and the responsibility should have fallen to the man the Commodore had bequeathed her to. None of this felt right, and immediately James called for his horse to be made ready.

There was a place she’d favored as a girl in the hills outside town, with a view of the sea and a cave where a determined runaway might take shelter from the elements. Though she’d never been gone this long before, James reckoned Elizabeth was still the sort of girl who would not balk at a night out of doors. He prayed that there he would find her and put the matter quickly to rest.

Why on earth she would steal away for so long, however, begged other questions.

After the dissolution of their engagement James still saw Elizabeth on occasion walking in the town, or even in the Governor’s house when their visits intersected. As a blacksmith’s wife she was always dressed simply, but even in plain clothes her beauty shined like the brightest star in the sky. Even five years after that brief interlude in which James had called her his, she still never failed to take his breath away.

However, some of the light seemed to have gone from her liquid brown eyes, and she always made an effort to hide her hands from view when in James’ presence. It worried him, though of course it was not his place to ask, and so they always just exchanged polite pleasantries before going about their own way.

James thought on these things as his steed made the steep climb up the narrow path, the soil rendered to sloppy muck by all the rain. Though he was soaked there was a merciful break in the weather, and heavy wisps of low-lying mist clung in the trees. When he reached the clearing at the top of the cliff the scene before him made his heart stutter in his chest. There she was, standing at the very edge of the precipice, in nothing but a faded blue day dress that was almost the same color as the stormy sky before her.

Quickly he unmounted, looping his reins around a branch so that Perseus would not wander. As he approached he could hear the waves crashing against the cliff below, and the howling of the angry wind. But as he neared closer he realized the latter was not the wind, but _her._

Heartbreak and _rage_ simultaneously formed like a swirling hurricane in his breast. How could the blacksmith have managed to make her _this_ unhappy? He did not wish to startle her, so he stuck to the formula they had used when he would find her, so many years ago.

“The hour is late, Elizabeth.”

He should have said _Mrs. Turner,_ but he could not bring himself to use her married name in that moment.

Slowly she turned, her eyes red from crying, her hair an unkempt nest after standing in the wind and rain. At the sight of James Norrington in hat and cloak behind her, concern shining in those earnest green eyes, she straightened. “Indeed it is,” she finally answered, looking back to the sea. “Too late, some would say.”

It was then that James noticed a trio of plump green fruits on the rock beside her. His heart jumped into his throat, panic causing that merciless organ to beat to quarters. “Elizabeth? Tell me you have not eaten of those?” He could not hide the raw alarm in his words.

They were the fruit of the Ackee tree, harmless when ripe, but deadly as a draught of hemlock when so green.

“What would it matter?” she sighed sadly. “Haven’t you heard that I am useless?”

_He would kill that blacksmith with his bare hands._

“I have never heard a more untruthful statement in my life, my lady.” James dared inch closer, wanting her in arm’s reach should she decide to do something foolish. He and Elizabeth had a history with high places, and he would never be heedless of them again.

With a bitter smile Elizabeth turned a little to face him, and James found himself watching her feet in relation to that ledge like a hawk. For the first time in their acquaintance since she had married, she held her hands directly in front of her, looking down at them ruefully. They were rough and chapped from the endless march of chores a blacksmith’s wife must perform around the household.

“I’m not a lady anymore.” A long silence passed, before she inquired with a note of disbelief, “Did Will send you to find me?”

“Indirectly, I suppose, through your father.”

“Ah.” She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes distant. In the politest tones, though her voice was rather hoarse, she mused, “I wonder if he also mentioned to my father that he is fucking the baker?”

James’ eyes veritably bugged from his skull.

_That useless guttersnipe. He would have Will Turner keelhauled…_

“Elizabeth…” James dared to take another step closer, hoping to pull her away from that ledge. She needed to get dry, and a hot meal in her, before she caught her death out here.

But Elizabeth went on in a faux-conversational tone, bitter hurt quite audible beneath it all. “The smell of fresh baked bread. That is what started it, he said.” She gave a fragile laugh. “As though the next logical step was to start an illicit liaison.” In a falsetto that was obviously her impression of Will, she said, “ _You cannot bake a proper loaf of bread. It’s always too hard or you burn it._ ” Elizabeth hung her head. “I work my fingers to the bone for that man. I cook and clean and wash his clothes. He will not let me hire servants because _what else would I do with my day?_ ”

James listened in horrified silence, far more appalled by the boy’s behavior than to hear all this dirty laundry aired to him.

“You deserve better, Elizabeth,” he finally said. “I am so very sorry.”

Pensively she placed a hand on her hip, looking past James to the mist in the trees. “I’m not sure that I do,” she answered. “I could have _had_ better _,_ but I threw it away with both hands like the perfect little fool that I was.” She met his eyes then, and he was pinned to the spot. “I am _so sorry,_ James _._ ”

She could have pushed him over with a feather.

Though she was always polite to him, she had never actually apologized for the way she had treated him. The acceptance of his proposal used only as a ruse to convince him to save Will, later shattered publicly for the whole of Port Royal to see, compounding utter heartbreak with complete embarrassment besides.

James was not prepared for such an apology now, nor for the way it hit him like a cannon ball to the chest. It took him aback, for a long moment, far too long. Yet when he recovered he found himself infused with a new courage, and boldly he stepped closer, kicking those damned Ackee into the sea and placing an arm around her waist to tug her back towards solid ground.

“Let us move from this ledge, Elizabeth. I find I have developed an aversion to high precipices.”

She laughed a little, though there was no joy in it. Instead she turned in his arms, and he gasped with surprise as she rested her head on his chest. Her damp hair immediately began to soak through his clothing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, sounding very young and very tired in that heartbreaking moment. “For behaving like such a perfect wretch.”

“You were just a girl,” he tried to console her. She was just a girl then, but now she was a _woman_ , and she regretted the hasty decision she had made. James tried not to let his imagination run wild with the possibilities in that fateful revelation. “You did not know.”

Indeed, not even _he_ could have fathomed Turner would so callously turn his back on this prize of a woman. Elizabeth surely had her faults. She was proud and headstrong, sometimes cruel, and possibly the most infuriating woman James had ever met. But she was also bright and beautiful, clever and brave, always so full of _life_. She _had_ been, and never in a million years could James have thought that would change.

Rather than argue, in the tiniest voice she dared ask, “Tell me how it would have been, James? Tell me what our life would have been like.”

James could hear his heartbeat in his ears, a tremor running through him. “To what end?” he sighed, resting a protective hand over her hair, holding her close to his heart. He’d never held her like this before, despite all the occasions in which he’d wanted to. Fate was cruel, that he would only be afforded the chance _now._

“Just…” She had no answer, really. Not one that she could voice aloud. Yet she hungered for it; the knowledge of what exactly had she destroyed in her blithe ignorance all those years ago? “Please tell me?”

He could deny her nothing, it seemed, even when it meant tearing his still-beating heart from his chest and placing it on display for her to see. Again. So finally, in a voice he hardly recognized as his own, he admitted, “I would have cherished you _always_ for the treasure that you are. I would have provided you an airy home filled with servants to do your bidding; you never would have needed to lift a finger if you didn’t want to. I would have loved you with _all_ my heart, _forever_ , Elizabeth.”

At hearing these words Elizabeth began to cry again upon his chest, and he pulled his cloak around her, shielding her from the drizzle with the wide brim of his tricorn hat. He held her until she quieted. “I will take you to your Father’s house,” he told her. “You may recuperate there.”

_And then he was going to whip Will Turner within an inch of his life._

Elizabeth lifted her head, tears beaded on her long lashes like rain drops. She looked upon James with _something_ in her face he’d never seen before. It was a look that had never been reserved for him. Yet when her trembling fingers touched his lips, he was _lost_ to her. Slowly his head lowered to hers, and their lips touched in a gentle kiss that seemed to go on for ages. The Commodore knew guilt for kissing another man’s wife, but it was far outweighed by utter _elation_. James was only able to withdraw when the rain started pouring down heavily again, caught in a state between euphoria and emotional ruin with this woman in his arms.

He loved her still.

Always, he would hold her in his heart.

“Take me…” Her voice trembled, and Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, knowing that once this path was trod, it could not be turned back upon again. “Take me to _your_ home, James,” she dared suggest.

She rolled large dark eyes up to meet his, finding the Commodore’s mouth agape. He was appalled, no doubt, she told herself. He could not fathom the extent of her depravity. No doubt he found her a perfect little hussy. But wrapped up in his strong arms, she felt something that had been absent from her life for _years_ in her marriage to Will, and she desperately didn’t want to relinquish it. After contemplating flinging herself from the cliff for two days James Norrington seemed too much an angel sent by fate to intervene in her sordid plans. And so she would follow him, if he would have her, after everything she had put him through.

James knew he should say no. That he should insist she go to her father, who would care for her and set her to rights. This was very _wrong—_ and yet he did not have the strength to refuse her. Not anymore. Not after _yearning_ for so goddamned long, _long_ after he should have stopped thinking about Elizabeth Swann become Mrs. Turner.

His nod was so slight it was barely a movement, his quiet acquiescence of “As you like,” almost lost in the crash of the waves below. James helped her up into the saddle, and then mounted Perseus behind her. With her slight form tucked protectively against his chest, he wrapped her in his wool cloak, praying she would not catch her death after days out in this damp. She rested her head against his shoulder, and for the first time in an age Elizabeth looked forward to what fate might have in store for her.


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha. Why yes, there is more... ;) Thank you everyone for reading and your lovely comments, they make my day! Night...whatever. :D

# II.

 

James Norrington’s house was not as grand as it could have been, considering his rank and accumulated wealth from numerous prizes. For the most part James disliked ostentatious excess, though he had indulged in a marvelously expensive large copper tub for himself, in which he liked to soak after a long tour. He thought it might be just the thing for Elizabeth now, and so upon bringing her inside James asked for a bath to be prepared. Mrs. Featherstone, his housekeeper of many years, bless her, hardly even raised an eyebrow, rallying the kitchen with a decisiveness befitting a sea captain more than a domestic to heat water and _lots_ of it, before taking poor Elizabeth upstairs, fussing all the while.

No doubt, he would receive a thorough dressing down later, for the woman had taken it upon herself to treat him more like a son than her master, of which James didn’t exactly object to. He was a bachelor, his own family was far away in England, and even a Commodore liked to be coddled once in a while. Featherstone knew very well James’ history with Elizabeth Turner; she had been there to try to heal his wound many years ago with all his favorite foods and too many baked goods, which James had mostly declined. He’d chosen instead to numb his wound by drinking a little too much behind closed doors in the evening; a habit of which had diminished as time wore on.

James paused to pen a missive to Governor Swann, hesitating over his words. He should have told the worried father that Elizabeth was at his house, and that Weatherby should send his carriage to collect her. But something stayed his hand, and with shame James identified it as _desire_. He did not want to relinquish her. Not just yet. She had asked for this, after all. Was it so wrong…

 _It was very wrong_ his inner conscience hissed. _And you damn well know it._

For once, James declined to listen to that voice in his head, which sounded so _very_ much like his father in times like this. He wrote a short note stating:

_Sir,_

_Elizabeth is safe and well._

_Ever your servant,_

_James Norrington._

 

After instructing a footman to deliver the correspondence to King’s House immediately, James took himself upstairs to get out of his dripping wet uniform. Featherstone had started a fire in his hearth, bless her, and before the smoldering flames he stripped down and toweled off.

The washroom with the large tub adjoined his master suite, and through the door he could hear everything. Featherstone fussing, Elizabeth’s quiet murmurs, the sloshing of the water being poured, and even Elizabeth’s sigh of contentment as finally she sank down into the piping hot bath. The latter sound of pleasure set every hair follicle on his body at attention, and he tried not to imagine what she must look like in that shining copper tub, the room filled with steam, her skin slick with scented water…

He shook his head and made to dress in an old pair of breeches and linen shirt. They were soft and worn, the togs he favored when a night of comfort over elegance was in order. Respectability had flown out the window the minute he set foot in the door with Elizabeth in his arms, he reckoned.

But maybe the bath would be enough to set her spirits to right; one should never underestimate the restorative properties of simple hot water. Perhaps she would decide to go to her father afterwards, and they could escape this evening practically unscathed…it would be the best thing, after all. He had damn near convinced himself of it, when Elizabeth’s voice carried through the door.

She was singing.

And though it was off key (music had never been her forte) her voice was sweet and light with an unexpected happiness that melted James’ heart. If that was all he accomplished this night, he would count it a victory. After what it sounded as though the Turner boy had put her through, it was the least she deserved.

James was lost in these thoughts in a chair before the fire when her voice cut into his reverie once more. “James?”

His heart skipped a beat.

Slowly he padded to the door, resting a hand upon it lightly, but not daring to open it. “Do you require something, Elizabeth?”

“Will you wash my back?”

His heart veritably _stopped_ in his chest, his voice caught in his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, James rested his forehead against the door, drawing in a deep breath.

He could say yes.

And then every last vestige of innocence left to this evening would fly out the door. They would have no defense left to them, only sin.

Sweet, irrevocable, sin.

He _wanted_ to say yes.

The silence drew on for too long, and he heard Elizabeth sigh. “Oh. I have misjudged this situation terribly, haven’t I?”

The pain in her voice squeezed his heart, and James dared moved his hand to the doorknob. “No,” he answered quickly. Too quickly. Swallowing _hard,_ he fought to regain some modicum of self-control. “No, Elizabeth. I just thought…you have had a rough few days, and you might like some time to recover.”

He heard the water slosh, and imagined her sitting forward in that tub, leaning towards the door. Towards _him._ “I suppose I hoped…you might like to help me with that.”

A long, damning sigh escaped him, and he knew she heard it through the door. He felt as though he watched himself from outside his body, as he prepared to fling himself from a very tall cliff, an abyss from whence he could not turn back. Finally he admitted, “I would like that very much, my lady, if it would please you.”

Her voice was soft, but her words were sure: “It would please me, James.”

At that James dared turn the door knob with a trembling hand, cracking the portal just a hair. A waft of scented steam moved past his cheek like a caress, and he closed his eyes. “You are certain?”

Two more words drove the last nails into this respective coffin.

“I am.”

James waved goodbye to propriety, wished it a safe journey, and sealed their fates by opening the door. The sight before him was somehow everything he had envisioned, and so much more than _anything_ he possibly could have imagined. She hugged her knees, the water hiding little, and the sight of her stole his breath away. Her golden hair was piled atop her head, and she looked so tiny in the big copper tub made to accommodate his much larger form. And thin, _terribly_ thin. Yet, some indefinable spark had returned to those mocha brown eyes, and that alone lifted James above the quagmire of guilt before him.

He stared for perhaps too long, and Elizabeth averted her gaze, looking down to the edge of the tub. “Forgive me,” he apologized immediately. “It’s just…my God, you are so _beautiful_.”

Elizabeth looked up with surprise, her full lips parted. She had thought that perhaps he stared because she was too skinny; sadness had a way of annihilating her appetite, and she’d had her share of it the past few years. It never occurred to her that he might still find her _that_ desirable.

Once she might have tossed her head and laughed with the casual assurance of a young thing who knows such complements are her due. But now…such words had a great power, and soothed her as surely as a healing balm.

“Please don’t apologize. It’s…been a _long_ time since a man has looked at me that way. I miss it.”

As the Commodore neared closer Elizabeth took her own leave to admire his well-made figure, his simple shirt and breeches doing little to disguise his broad shoulders and fit torso. Wigless, his thick dark hair was cropped, and her fingers itched to run through it. The top buttons of his shirt were unclasped, revealing a triangle of pale flesh she found unspeakably enticing. Elizabeth found herself absently biting her lip as she appraised him, her eyes only lifting to meet his as he knelt at the side of the tub, folding his arms upon the copper lip.

James was not unaware of her open appraisal, and couldn’t help the raw thrill that churned through his veins for it. She had _never_ looked at him that way before, like he was something she wanted to _taste._ He had dreamed of it countless times, but never really thought it would ever come to be.

Carefully he offered, “I regret that your husband turned out to be such a fool.”

She paid him a sad smile. “As do I.” There was a long pause, then she elaborated, “Though it wasn’t always so bad. It was just…not what I expected. I thought we would have adventures and see new places. I badly wanted to go back to sea. But he wanted to settle down and focus on his trade. When Mr. Brown died he left him the shop, and he felt responsible for it, I suppose.

“We used my dowry to buy our house and refit the smithy. Mostly the smithy… I tried to be a good housewife. I know you must think me a spoiled little society chit, but I did not miss my luxuries as you might think I would have. Simple dresses are so much more comfortable, for one, and I did not even mind the hard work of keeping up our little household at first. I was happy to do it for him. It was a labor of love…but he never appreciated it, he just _expected_ it to be done. And nothing I did was ever good enough. Of course it wasn’t. What did I know about cooking or washing clothes? And as the years went by and no children came…he blamed me, naturally. He told me that I took too many walks, and that I must stay at home and not move about so.”

James remembered that he used to see her wandering the beach late in the morning, or sometimes the afternoon. He’d watched her, much to his shame, sometimes going so far as to use his glass to spy on her perambulations. She’d seemed restless, which was no surprise, but in time he noticed her absence from the seaside. He’d assumed she found new places to ramble—the thought that she’d been kept cooped up at the house all day at Turner’s insistence inspired yet another roil of anger in James’ belly. The boy had clipped her wings, and it was _unforgiveable_.

Elizabeth continued, “The constant litany of disapproval broke my heart. Nothing I did pleased him. He would go to work and make these beautiful things out of metal—it was what he loved. And I would stay at home up to my eyebrows in the household drudgery…it made me bitter. Which if you can imagine, I began to express openly and often.” James _could_ imagine it, but dared not admit it now. “I hoped things would change, but instead I only managed to drive him away from me.”

She sighed heavily, her eyes fixed on a point in the past. “When I found out about the Widow Haversham— _the baker_. I just wanted it to _end_. I sat up on that cliff for two days trying to get up the courage…but I didn’t want to die. I just don’t want to be married to him anymore. And then _you_ came out of the mist from the woods like a dark angel in your billowing cloak.” A small smile pulled at her mouth as she turned to regard him. “One would think you have a flair for theatre, Commodore.”

After such a sad tale James took a little heart that she could find the strength to tease him.

“I don’t think you would have jumped,” he told her, reaching up to caress her hair. “Or eaten the fruit. You’re too strong.”

Her smile widened a fraction, and her eyes slipped closed as he gently traced the shell of her ear. “You mean stubborn?”

“That too.”

“Did you always know?”

“Of course.”

And he would have married her still.

Over time she had found that Will had always put her on a pedestal from afar, but up close he realized she was not the perfect English rose he’d idealized her to be. But James had known about her thorns all along…and loved her devotedly anyway.

His voice cut through her musing as he assured her, “You cannot blame yourself, Elizabeth. It was his duty to make you happy, and he failed spectacularly.”

 _Care and devotion._ Those were the stipulations with which James had given her free to the blacksmith, and William Turner had not taken himself to the task. James wondered vaguely if he could have the boy publicly flogged for breach of contract, or for just being a complete fucking flat…

Elizabeth siddled closer, distracting James from his thoughts. Gently she touched the furrow between his brows, smoothing the frown line away. “When you do that I can’t help but imagine you’re thinking of doing him violence.”

James sighed. “Am I that transparent?”

“It’s a look I recognize from the days when Jack Sparrow was around,” she admitted with a touch of her old cheek, and James had the grace to laugh at himself a little, smiling in spite of himself.

“Indeed.”

Next her fingers brushed the corner of his mouth, and James froze once more, his every nerve fixated upon this woman before him. “You have such a handsome smile. A rare sight to see. I’m a lucky woman.”

Though he thought that she would have seen it _much_ more had she married him, James declined to mention that truth. She leaned in closer, and when she kissed him again gently it sent a thrill from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He reached up to touch the curve of her neck lightly, winning a shudder that marched down her spine. A small smile curled her lips, which James took as encouragement. He reached for the sponge and dipped it in the water, moving so that he could run it over her back. Elizabeth arched like a cat under his gentle touch, seemingly _so_ sensitive, as though she was _starved_ for human contact.

This made him bolder, and on that clue he set aside the sponge, daring to place his large hands upon her shoulders, squeezing her muscles gently. She made a sound that suggested he’d touched her in a _much_ more private area, purring like a cat as he massaged her shoulders and neck that were undoubtedly stiff from bending over household chores. The thought of her slaving away over laundry or scrubbing the floors or a hot stove rekindled that angry heat in his belly, but he shoved it back down for something to address later. Perhaps in a dark alley with Groves at his side and the whelp cornered, or perhaps with pistols and swords on a deserted beach at dawn…

“Do you think me awful?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts, her voice so uncharacteristically _fragile_ that it _hurt_ James to hear, deep in his soul. More than anything, he wanted to pick up this woman’s pieces, and put her together again. If only he knew _how_ …

“I could never think ill of you,” he admitted carefully, his fingertips wandering the curve of her spine. She had a little mole in the center of her back, which for some reason he found distractingly endearing… “I _love_ you.”

She turned in the tub to face him, and he froze, a rabbit caught in the wolf’s stare. After several long moments she closed her eyes, a shuddering sigh escaping her. “Still? _How_? How can you still _love_ me, after what I did to you?” Desire was understandable to her. And kindness came easily to this man, in whom it was second nature to protect and serve. But _love,_ after so long?

James dared take her hand, marveling at her long fingers and the delicate bones within. Hands she had tried to hide from him for so long. They were rough, it was true, and calloused in certain places on her palm and fingers. He didn’t care, and he pressed that hand over his heart, so that she might feel its steady beat. “Because this belongs to you,” he told her with steadfast certainty. “And it always will.”

Something snapped in Elizabeth at hearing that. A howling need made itself known that it would not be denied this night, and she reached for him, needing him in her arms. Elizabeth kissed him again, this time with an almost _desperate_ passion, water sloshing over the side of the tub. James could not bring himself to care, his arms wrapping around her narrow body, holding her tightly to him and soaking his shirt in the process. Her mouth made _sweet_ war with his, and neither emerged the victor, trading back and forth with seemingly no end. As they kissed James helped her stand with a firm grip on her arms, and step from the tub. She dripped on his floor and he toweled her off, lovingly inspecting every section of newly dried flesh with his lips and tongue.

Elizabeth sighed with happiness as he kissed her neck and collarbone, his teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder. And her cries shifted to something decidedly more wanton as he ducked to her breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth to lave it generously with his tongue. Elizabeth clung to his broad shoulders, reveling in his height and the way his hands fit upon the curves of her waist. Somehow she managed to divest him of his sodden shirt in between the attentions he paid her, and hungrily her hands explored the planes of his muscled torso and the ridges of his scars hard-won at sea.

She gasped in surprise when James went to his knees before her, his sure hands drying one long leg, and then the other. It put him embarrassingly close to her sex, though the way he looked at her…she did not feel ashamed. She felt like a _goddess_ , and with parted lips she watched, curious what he would do. Green eyes flashed up at her from beneath dark brows, a heat and mischief within them that she’d _never_ beheld in James Norrington before. He kissed her belly, the valley of her hip, and parted her thighs to kiss her _there,_ winning another ragged cry. Her knees went weak beneath her as his lips pressed to her sex, his tongue laving hungrily at her center. Elizabeth was not exactly a blushing virgin, but she had _never_ felt anything so _blissful_.

James lifted one of her legs upon his shoulder so that he might reach her better, and continued to drive her mad until she _shattered_ , his name on her lips like a benediction, and she would have fallen over with the pleasure of it had he not steadied her with those large hands on her waist and buttocks. He teased her still with small soft licks until she _begged_ him for mercy, squirming. “ _God_ , no more, I _can’t_ …. _James_ …” She laughed shakily and she could have _cried_ , melting in his embrace as he rose to his feet.

Elizabeth rose on tiptoe to find his lips, kissing him sweetly as the world slowly stopped spinning around her. “Take me to your bed?” she requested, sounding ridiculously shy to her own ears after the act he’d just performed upon her. His smile was warm as the sun, and the Commodore swept her up into his arms like a bride.

“I will take you to _our_ bed,” he answered, toeing open the washroom door to enter the master bed chamber. There was one more article of seemingly incongruous extravagance in James Norrington’s house, though it was a piece of furniture he’d commissioned with someone else in mind. A woman who loved the sea, and all the mysterious creatures of her depths.

“ _Our_ bed?” she asked, though as she laid eyes upon it immediately she understood. The carved headboard was crested with a shell and flanked by ornate swirls of waves. The posts each bore an undulating dolphin amidst coils of rope, and the carpenter had added small details all over of little shells and starfish and even barnacles. Blue and white drapery accented the corners, held back with silver cord. Instantly her heart melted. “Oh James. You made this?”

“Well…I had it made,” he confessed, laying her down upon the soft down mattress.

Tears filled her eyes for the umpteenth time that night. “And you sleep here?”

 _Alone,_ in this bed made for _them._

“When I am ashore.” It helped him feel close to her, as sad as that was, and though he had not exactly lived as a monk, he had never brought another woman to this bed.

She reached for him, desperately needing him in her arms, and he paused only long enough to divest himself of his breeches to happily fulfil her wish.

“I was such a fool.”

“Elizabeth…” He hated to hear her berating herself. It was done, there was no going back. Only forward, whatever paltry spoils the future could hold for them. What could they have? A night of passion? A long affair made up of illicit liaisons? It hurt to think upon, when all he wanted in the world was to honor her as the woman he loved above all others.

“No, James, _please_.” She held his face in her hands, willing him to look down at her. “I chose the wrong man. Know that I _know_ that now. Please, just know I hold it to be true.”

Pain flashed upon his features, and he might have wept, had he not been able to settle his body upon hers and kiss her deeply, their legs tangling in a lover’s knot. Soon he was _inside_ her, and he paused a long moment to savor the sensation. She was so warm, tight and wet and in this short moment, _his._ He had wanted her for _so long,_ and finally they were _here._ James could hardly believe this was not a dream. He began to move, and she arched beneath him, crying out raggedly as he thrust home. Suddenly unsure, he paused again. “Are you alright?”

She, however, only laughed, and it was a sound filled with _joy_. He was simply _more_ than what she’d grown used to in sharing Will Turner’s bed. “Oh yes. Don’t stop. You’re magnificent, James, please don’t stop.”

It was an order he was happy to fulfill, and he did not stop until she shuddered once more beneath him, his name on her lips again. _The way she said his name…_ He felt utterly _invincible_ in her arms, like he’d finally found the place he was always meant to be. James shook as he came with her, his face buried in the bend of her neck, their pleasure only amplified by the other’s release. “ _Elizabeth,”_ he whispered in her hair. “ _My darling Elizabeth.”_

When he regained the ability to move again James pulled her into his arms, and they lay in a supine tangle in the quiet after the storm. Elizabeth looked up to the carving in the arched wood canopy above their heads, a panel that was rendered in the pattern of a star. “A compass rose?” she asked dreamily, tracing its arms in the air with her finger.

“So that we would always find our way to each other, here,” he whispered in her hair, and she felt her heart melt all over again for this man. Deep down, James Norrington was a _romantic_ , and it couldn't have been a pleasanter surprise. She snuggled into his arms, his long body curled with hers. Was it such an exaggeration to think that the depression in his shoulder was made just for the shape of her head? Tangled up like this, they fell into a contented doze.  


	3. III

# III.

 

James woke Elizabeth a few hours later with soft kisses, and they made love tenderly once more in _their_ bed. Afterwards Elizabeth shyly admitted that she was _starving,_ and so James sneaked down to his own kitchen to see what might be had. They had not been summoned for dinner, thank God, and now the servants seemed to be pointedly avoiding him, for which he was somewhat grateful. Nothing like a little shame from your own household staff to color the evening…

In the end he managed to make up a plate of cold ham, fruit, cheese, and bread and butter; simple staples that would surely do his wan lover some good. He put it all on a silver tray and took it upstairs.

Together they cleaned off the tray bite by bite while lounging in bed, giggling as they fed each other pieces of food and kissed away the stray crumbs. Afterwards Elizabeth curled up in his arms once more, and fell into a _deep_ sleep.

James woke again late in the night to an unusual ruckus downstairs. He recognized the voice of his footman, Grimsby, and another that the Commodore did not relish _at all._ As quietly as he could he disentangled himself from the sleeping nymph beside him, planting a gentle kiss upon her golden hair before throwing on breeches and a shirt. The voices grew louder below, and James decided his sword would complete his ensemble nicely.

The Commodore walked out on the landing to find Will Turner in a tussle with Grimsby in the foyer below. Though Grimsby was a much larger man, Turner was clearly _furious_ and unfortunately it gave the blacksmith an advantage _._ With a mighty shove Turner sent the footman sprawling into a table, obliterating the piece of furniture into smithereens. The big man hit his head on the way down, and lay in the wreckage in a daze.

“As if I required an excuse to kill you,” James deadpanned, descending the stairs. “You go and break my grandmother’s table. That was an heirloom, I’ll have you know.”

Turner turned furious eyes up to the Commodore, and the singing of steel accompanied his words as he drew his sword from its sheath. “As excuses for killing go, I would call absconding with a man’s wife a far better one than a _broken table_.”

“ _Absconding_ is hardly the word,” said James bitterly. Though he kept his voice calm, there was note of steel that would have made a wiser man _quite_ nervous to face him.

“Then pray enlighten me, Commodore. What would you call it? I suspect _philandering_ might be more the thing.”

Fury kindled once more in James’ belly. That this puissant would have the nerve to throw stones in _that_ arena maddened the Commodore to no end.

“You should leave now.”

Turner pointed his blade at James. “Not without _her_.”

James ignored this demand as he drew his own blade, laying the scabbard to rest on the stairs as he stepped down into the foyer with Turner. It would have been best had the boy decided to take his leave with tail between his legs, but in truth James was _glad_ that Will was such a fool. James thought of the desolate look in Elizabeth’s eyes when he’d found her; the sound of her sorrow, the litany of crimes her husband had committed against her—and James _wanted_ to fight him.

The floor was polished stone inlaid in the pattern of a compass rose, a favored motif in the Commodore’s home, and the two men circled each other as though the design was the Spanish circle.

“You have broken into my home, Turner, not to mention assaulted my staff, and _that is_ a perfect excuse to kill you. I believe I would even relish it tonight. So I advise you one more time. _Leave_.”

James knew it was best not to mention what he knew of the boy’s other crimes, as tempting as it was. Perhaps the boy had not broken the law, per se, but he had violated the agreement they had made on the steps of the battlements that fateful day so long ago. Caring for Elizabeth was a sacred duty James had relinquished to Will, and the boy had all but spit upon it.

“Not without my _wife_!” Turner shouted, lunging for the Commodore. “Where _is_ she?”

James easily parried the blow, and two more. The sound of ringing steel filled the mezzanine above them.

“You seem awfully certain she’s here.”

They continued their bout, the clanging of swords echoing throughout the whole house. Turner wasn’t bad, as hopefully anyone who had practiced four hours a day would be. But it was no substitute for real battle, and James had made a career of war since he became a midshipman at the age of twelve.

“How stupid do you think I am? I go to the Governor for assistance, and he sends _you,_ his favorite lapdog and the son in law he always truly wished for. I go to King’s House hoping for news, and Weatherby tells me he received a note from _you,_ and assumed she had been returned home. What would _you_ conclude, Commodore?”

Will slashed and made a very pretty show of footwork that would have won a bout with a lesser opponent. But James was too well versed, and he used his longer limbs to his advantage, finding an opening and punching the blacksmith square in the face.

It felt _ridiculously_ good to do so.

Will stumbled, falling back flat on the marble floor. James triumphantly held his sword to Turner’s throat, and kicked away the boy’s rapier. It skittered across the marble before impaling the baseboard across the room.

“I have drawn some conclusions of my own, blacksmith, so listen closely. You are going to leave Port Royal, and _never_ come back again. You will not see her. You will not communicate to her. You will not make claim upon her. If you so much as _breathe_ in her direction again I will see that breath is your last. Do you understand?”

Turner clenched his jaw defiantly. “You can’t do that.”

“I can’t?” James was not usually a man who flaunted his power, but in this instance he was all too happy to hold his position over William Turner’s head. He would gladly use it to _bury_ this man, if it meant Elizabeth would be free.

“She is my _wife_. I _love_ her.”

“And the baker too, apparently.”

The boy frowned, clearly displeased that his private affairs had been aired in public. “That is over with.”

“It makes no difference to me.” James pressed the tip of his sword to Turner’s throat, as it seemed his point needed further punctuation. “She is _done_ with _you_ , and thus you will go.”

Disbelief played over William’s features, and it was _almost_ pitiable. “Did she tell you that?”

“ _Yes_.”

A soft voice from above called both men’s attention to the landing. Elizabeth stood there wrapped in James’ robe, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Elizabeth.” Will attempted to sit up, and hissed at James’ sword bit into his flesh, drawing a trickle of blood. He realized he must plea his case from the ground, and he reached out to her best he could from his back. “Elizabeth, I am _sorry._ Come home, and we will work it out.”

A long silence stretched out, and James feared she was softening to the boy’s plea. He could see it all too clearly. The loss of her, _again_ , and her return to an unhappy life as William Turner’s wife.

“No.”

James’ heart skipped a beat as he heard her quiet refusal, and he was half certain that he’d imagined it.

“Elizabeth, this is _nonsense._ You have to come home!”

“ _No!_ ” This time her tone contained far more mettle. “No, Will. Maybe we loved each other once, but there is nothing left of what we were. You know it’s true, and if you won’t leave I will.”

It seemed to dawn on Turner that she was _entirely_ serious, and slowly his head rocked back to rest on the cool marble floor, his eyes closing for a long moment. Blood trickled from his nose.

“That is what you really want?”

“It is.”

Slowly he nodded, digesting the idea, and the defeat that came with it. He began to sit up again, daring James with a glare to run him through. Reluctantly the Commodore stepped back, though he kept his sword trained on the troublesome blacksmith. How _much_ he would have liked to run the boy through and simply be done with the matter. But Elizabeth was watching…and truth be told, James Norrington wasn’t really that sort of man.

Will crossed the floor to pick up his sword, and slid it back into its sheath, holding up his hands in surrender as he made his way back to the door. With his hand on the knob he turned for one last look at Elizabeth, who looked very small in the oversized robe, and yet regal as a queen with her chin held defiantly. She had not looked that proud in _ages,_ and vaguely Will realized how much their marriage had drained her.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

“So am I.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, William.”

With that the blacksmith stole back out into the night, the rain pounding down outside.

Grimsby came to not long after, looking about with confusion at the wreckage of the table and the Commodore standing with a bare sword in hand. “Sir?”

James spared a rueful smile, glancing up at Elizabeth. “It’s alright, Grimsby. Why don’t you go to the kitchen for a glass of water? Mrs. Featherstone will take care of you.”

She would give him a restorative shot of brandy, more like.

Nodding sheepishly, the big man lumbered towards the back of the house, leaving James and Elizabeth alone. Slowly the Commodore climbed the steps, greeted by a gently smiling Elizabeth. “I should shower you with roses, my knight in shining armor.”

The Commodore offered a small smile that was tinged with sadness. “Indeed. And in only seven years you will be free.”

Elizabeth sighed in answer. If William kept his word and left Port Royal, seven years was the soonest she could claim abandonment, and her own freedom. Until then she would still be Mrs. Turner, and would have to live with her father.

“I wouldn’t ask you to wait for me,” she sighed, looking down at her bare feet.

With a finger hooked beneath her chin James turned her gaze back up to his. Upon the first step they stood eye to eye. “You wouldn’t have to,” he assured her, and she might have wept with happiness, had she any tears left that day.

“ _Oh James._ ” She launched herself into his arms, and he might have stumbled if not for a steady hand upon the bannister. Elizabeth hugged him around the neck and pressed kisses behind his ear. “Thank you. For _everything_ you have done today, a _thousand_ thank yous.”

James buried his nose in her hair. Just to _hold_ her was thanks enough, he reckoned. Slowly she drew back, that spark returned to her mocha dark eyes once more. “The hour is late, Commodore.”

A slow smile pulled at his lips, and she squealed with delight as suddenly he lifted her in his arms. “So it is, my love. It is _long_ past our bedtime.” For the second time that evening he carried her to bed, and she sighed as she sank into the down mattress.

Perhaps there were _certain_ luxuries she had missed as the wife of a blacksmith. If she was ever so lucky to be the wife of a _Commodore_ , she would not take them, or him, for granted ever again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. The Spanish circle refers to la destreza, an Iberian form of fencing that emphasizes the consideration of geometry in its practice, as opposed to the straight lines of English and French styles. You know, like Zorro. ;)  
> II. Divorce was an expensive and arduous proceeding, very rarely awarded. Till death do you part was taken quite seriously. If a woman had been "abandoned" she could file suit after SEVEN years to remarry. The other option was death, of course, but as nice as it sounds I don't think James could really run Will through. ;) Maybe next time...


	4. IV

 

# IV.

 

Of course there were whispers when both the smithy and the bakery were seemingly abandoned overnight, and Mrs. Turner moved back into King’s House with her father. Elizabeth did not care one fig, and with a light heart she went about reclaiming her life. She ate well, and took walks whenever she liked, for a start.

Not long after her return James Norrington received an invitation to tea from Governor Swann. And though the old man’s company was always something James looked forward to, he couldn’t help but hope Elizabeth would be in attendance as well.

The Governor met him at the door, and the old friends chatted about the weather and the ships just come in from England.

“James!” His name exclaimed in such sweet tones instantly drew his attention aloft, and Elizabeth stood at the top of the staircase dressed in a fine pale yellow gown. On fleet feet she hurried down—too fast in her excitement, for on the second to last step she tripped. But the Commodore was there to catch her, righting her slight form in his strong arms. For a long moment they forgot themselves, all too happy to linger so close, each ensnared in the other’s gaze.

It was James who remembered himself first, taking a cautious step back when he was sure she was steady on her feet. “My lady,” he greeted, bowing over her hand, the one part of her he could not bring himself to relinquish.

“Commodore,” she acknowledged back with that impish little smile he knew of old. “I apologize for my clumsiness. It seems I must grow used to these floor length skirts again.”

Most men would have shied from the subject, but James only smiled in understanding. “Well, if I may say so, they do become you quite handsomely, Elizabeth.”

“Flatterer,” she teased, tapping his arm with her fan. “But you may say so, thank you.”

Weatherby watched this exchange with lifted brows and an ill-disguised amusement. Something had changed between these two—and though a pessimist may have said _too late,_ Weatherby took heart. After all, Elizabeth and James were both still young.

James offered Elizabeth his arm, and she accepted his offer of escort gladly, perhaps pressing a little too close to the Commodore for decency.

James did not mind, and he threaded her fingers with his for good measure behind Weatherby’s back.

Tea passed with pleasant conversation and a generous helping of Cook’s excellent biscuits and pineapple jam. James was glad to see Elizabeth was eating, and she glowed with a long lost vitality now.

A servant came to inform the Governor he had an urgent visitor, and the old man excused himself for what should only take a moment. Immediately Elizabeth relocated to sit next to James upon the settee, clasping his hands in hers. “James,” she said in the lowest tone, almost a whisper. “You have given me a new lease on life. I cannot thank you enough.”

“There is no need to thank me,” he assured her. “It was a deed gladly done. You look well, truly.”

“Thank you. I _feel_ well.”

Too well, perhaps, for a woman abandoned. But she had spent what felt like an eternity wallowing in her own misery. She had resolved to not shed another tear for Will Turner, and so far she had succeeded grandly.

“I miss you,” she confessed, boldly bringing his fingers to her lips.

 _Seven years_ hung unsaid in the air between them. How _ever_ would they last it?

“As I miss you. I did not think it possible,” James admitted in return. “But I love you more with every passing day.”

She sighed with longing, pressing her cheek into his hand. “Oh James. I still cannot fathom what it is you see in me after all these years.”

He caressed the curve of her cheek, and her eyes slid closed in response. “I see a woman like the sea,” he answered. “Bold and beautiful, steady yet ever changing. Fierce and untamable. I never had a chance against your charms,” he teased.

But Elizabeth’s gaze fell. “I would say Will Turner had me quite _tamed_ for a long period of time.”

James turned her gaze back up to his with a knuckle beneath her chin. “But he did not break you, Elizabeth, and now you are free to have the last laugh.” Eventually a small smile curled her lips, and she surprised him when she was so bold as to press a kiss to his lips. It warmed him to his toes, and he could not bring himself to scold her for indiscretion. Nay, in fact he badly wanted another—and in light of his desire he tried to steer the proceedings to safer waters.

“Do you intend to attend Lady Righton’s ball this Saturday?” James inquired, a hopeful note in his tone that he could not disguise. His opportunities to see her legitimately would be far and few between. How he hungered for her company as he lay alone in bed now—even more so now that he knew she desired him in return. What had always been a familiar ache threatened to turn into an _unbearable_ longing.

Elizabeth bit her lip in reluctance. “I’m not sure I am ready to go back into society just yet. You know the biddies will relish the chance to snub me. I have been gone a long time.” Such things shouldn’t have mattered of course, but the truth of the matter was that it would hurt.

“Perhaps at first…until they see that every gentleman in the room requests a dance from you.”

Elizabeth chuckled, rolling her eyes a little. More likely that would only kindle jealousy, of which she’d fielded her share as a maiden. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

“I would count on at least two dance requests,” he assured her with a warm smile, lifting her hand to his lips. “Three if we’re really feeling scandalous.”

Elizabeth dared to scoot a little closer to James upon the settee, her eyes flitting towards the door before she leaned in. “What if I’m feeling scandalous _now_?” she asked.

James felt his heart stop in his chest.

She looked up at him with those luminous dark eyes, her full lips parted _just so._ It was a look that drove him _wild_ , and God how he wanted her in that moment.

“Elizabeth… _your father,”_ he reminded her.

“Is busy with Mr. Yeats, which always takes at least half an hour.”

“It’s the _middle_ of the day.”

“All the better to see your lovely green eyes,” she insisted, caressing his dark brow with the tip of her finger. He felt his resolve _crumble_ beneath her gentle touch, and he drew her into his arms, his mouth finding hers once more.

 

XXX

 

By the time the Governor returned he found Elizabeth and James seated together on the settee, laughing over something. They looked inexplicably flushed for conversing over tea, but in the end Weatherby thought nothing of it, glad to see his daughter smiling again. It had been too long, and Weatherby had not been not so sad to hear the blacksmith had gone, even if he had to compound the insult by running off with the baker.

A little later Weatherby walked James out, and in a low tone imparted, "Commodore, I may be an old man but I am not a fool."

Instantly James colored, his cheeks burning scarlet. This was it. He was done for. This kind old man was going to call him out for having relations with his daughter in his parlor in broad daylight...

"I realize you had some hand in emancipating my daughter from her dolt of a husband. I do not require details, but please know I am grateful to you for her new found happiness. I never should have allowed..." Weatherby ended his sentence with a long sigh, clearly regretting his own complacency in Elizabeth’s ill-fated marriage to the blacksmith, and James could not have appeared more dumbfounded had the old gentleman produced a fish from his pocket and struck him with it.

"Sir, I..." James bowed his head, and cleared his throat. The first time he had confessed his love for Elizabeth Swann to her father, when asking for permission to seek her hand, had somehow almost been easier than _this_. "Her happiness has always been my highest priority. I hold your daughter in the best regard. Always."

It was the closest he could come to outright admitting that he still loved her, and the canny old governor took his meaning perfectly well, a small smile curling his lips.

"Well, she is a lucky woman to count you amongst her friends, Commodore."

James bowed in acknowledgement, and took his leave, already looking forward to the next occasion he would be able to return. It could not come too soon.

 

XXX

 

Elizabeth’s predictions of her reception back into society were perfectly right, at first. The hens of the ton immediately took to whispering behind their fans upon seeing her enter the room on her father’s arm. She had decided upon a gown of dark green, leery of drawing attention to herself, avoiding the brighter colors more suitable for the eligible maidens. Upon first seeing her James nearly dropped his glass; in a dark color or light, Elizabeth’s beauty outstripped every other woman in the room.

However, James’ predictions also came to fruition, and Elizabeth noticed a pattern in the gentlemen who asked for a dance. Captain Groves approached her first, smiling shyly as he bowed over her hand. The shyness soon wore off, and they ribbed each other good naturedly in between steps and turns, just like old times. Next came Lieutenant Gillette, then Lieutenant Rhodes, and then a Captain Percy who was new to Port Royal.

“Did you order then _all_ to keep my card full?” she teased as the man she desired _most_ approached. It took every iota of self-control she possessed not to launch herself into James’ arms. He looked _so_ handsome in his best uniform. “If so I have quite a busy evening ahead.” She looked out over the ballroom, which was filled with quite an abundance of Navy blue.

James smiled for her teasing, pressing his lips to the back of her hand in greeting. “Who says it would take _my_ orders to send them flocking to you? You are the most beautiful woman in this room, my lady.”

Elizabeth could do nothing but smile in return. When he said it like _that_ she believed him. James led her out to the floor, his fingers laced with hers upon his arm. In the melee of the dancefloor Elizabeth could have laughed out loud, she felt so _happy._ She had almost forgotten what a flawless lead James could be, and it was fortunate for she herself was more than a bit rusty.

Afterwards she was breathless with joy as much as the physical exertion. When James asked if she might like to take the cooler air of the garden she eagerly agreed. On the way out James commandeered two glasses of Champagne from a passing servant, handing one to Elizabeth.

Strains of music carried out into the night, accented by the burbling of a fountain as the pair moved deeper into the garden. A cool breeze blew in from the sea, the scent of night blooming flowers heavy in the air. “I am not certain I should be allowed to have this much fun,” she gushed between sips of the cooling beverage. “It seems as though it should be forbidden somehow.”

James frowned at the sentiment, his grip upon her inadvertently tightening. “You are due all the fun you should care to have, Elizabeth,” he assured her, and he wondered who had told her otherwise. Would the society matrons be so cruel directly?

He feared they would.

“Am I, Commodore?” There was a twinkle in her eye that might have been fueled by the Champagne, though James suspected it was simply Elizabeth at her best, returning to her full powers as a mistress of mischief and the unexpected. For the umpteenth time that evening his heart swelled to bursting with love for this woman.

When she tugged him into a shadowy alcove he did not fight her, all too glad to follow her down this primrose path.

But could it really be so wrong? They loved each other—why did it have to feel like such a sin? It was not enough to stop him, nor her. With no husband to bring suit, the worst that could happen was vicious whispers, though that in itself held its own power James had never been entirely successful in understanding.

“Ah, this is fitting,” he mused between kisses, guiding Elizabeth to sit down upon the marble bench that presided over this alcove. It was carved in the shape of a shell, and made James think of an engraving he’d seen of an Italian painting depicting the birth of Venus.

“Do I look like a sea siren?” she teased, affecting the pose of a mermaid on a rock with a healthy dose of self-deprecation. Perhaps _that_ was the Champagne talking.

But it hurt James’ heart that her first association would be to compare herself to a creature who led men to their ruin. It was neither fair, nor true.

“No, my love. You are Aphrodite herself.”

He did not get the chance to further explain, for his lips soon found her lips, and the soft curve of her throat, and points beyond that which rendered them both _perfectly_ speechless.


	5. V

# V.

 

They became experts in the art of the illicit liaison. It seemed no space was too public, no surface too small, or no window of time too short. When Elizabeth burst through the door of his cabin upon _the Dauntless_ she had a look in her eye he had come to know well over the past year, and immediately his blood warmed in response.

However, this particular day it would have to wait. He had been putting off calling upon King’s House until later, and now with Elizabeth upon him he could not in good conscience hold back this information, no matter how much he would have preferred to lose himself in her charms instead.

“Elizabeth.” He stood from his desk to greet her, and she was upon him like a wave, her mouth crashing upon his.

Her kisses _still_ had the power to make his knees utterly weak, and he forgot his urgent business for a good long interval, his hands upon her waist holding her to him. “Elizabeth—”

“We must hurry,” she gushed, her eyes bright. “Groves has taken Father to the forecastle to showcase the new figurehead.”

“But we haven’t a new figurehead…”

Elizabeth giggled, sounding years younger in that moment, and it made his heart glad and simultaneously _ache_ for the news he had yet to tell her. He also knew a brief moment of embarrassment that now _Theodore_ had been made an accomplice in this affair. “Exactly!” she gushed, grabbing his hand to lead him back to his desk. She appraised the imposing piece of furniture with a gleam in her dark eyes. “We haven’t tried it here before,” she purred, tugging James closer with a fist in his lapel. He steadied himself with hands upon the desk, his arms upon either side of her. Now he could read her so very well, and he could tell she liked this immensely. “Not that I haven’t thought about it…”

So had he, truth be told, and so perhaps he could be forgiven for his weakness when he submitted to her sweet kisses once more.

He tried, though. He really did, surfacing once more to insist, “Elizabeth, there’s something I really must show you.”

Elizabeth’s hands smoothed down the front of his uniform, finding the telling bulge already filling out the front of his breeches. “Indeed?” she teased, and he groaned as she stroked him with the flat of her palm.

It really never was a fair fight to begin with.

There was triumph as well as joy in the small sound she made as James lifted her upon the desk, his large hands upon her thighs. “I cannot _tell_ you how many times I have fantasized having you here,” he assured her, his voice a gravely baritone against her skin that gave her gooseflesh all over. She loved it when she rendered him like this. The usually so buttoned-up Commodore _quite_ undone, all because of little old her.

She really wasn’t a lady, she mused. Underneath this pretty facade, she was nothing but a smoldering volcano, waiting to explode.

Layer by soft layer James lifted her skirts, searching for her molten center beneath all this silk. When he found her she moaned into his mouth, his practiced thumb knowing very well how to scramble her senses by touching that nub of flesh just _so_.

Impatiently she sighed, her hands fumbling with the placket of his breeches. “I need you _now_ ,” she insisted. “I’m ready, I’ve been ready all day, _thinking_ of you...”

James slid one long finger inside of her, finding her assessment correct, her quim soaking wet with wanting. It made him dizzy with joy; despite the duration of their affair he could hardly _believe_ that somehow they had arrived here. It seemed only yesterday that he had resigned himself to permanently longing for Elizabeth from afar, and now… _this._ This sweetest treasure was his to claim again and again.

He let her guide him inside her, and just her hand on his cock made him whisper her name in the bend of her neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin of her shoulder.

“ _Oh James,”_ she sighed as he was sheathed completely inside her. She would never quite get used to it, she reckoned. It was simply _too good._ Slowly they began to move, and James’ hand between them helped her along, stroking in tandem with his body pumping inside hers. In no time he had her arching beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer as her body pulsed with release around his. It was too much—it was too _perfect._ With a shudder he spent himself inside her, half blind with the pleasure of it all.

Somehow they had both managed to do all this without hardly making a sound.

It really _was_ an art, this form of lovemaking they were perfecting.

And yet, James couldn’t help but think in the blissful few moments he could spare to relax against her, breathing in the scent of her skin, that it would have been nice to be able to lounge in bed together afterwards…to be able to fall asleep, and wake to do it again slowly, as they had that first night.

Elizabeth’s gentle fingers upon his cheek drew him back to the present, and he raised himself a little so that he may look upon her face. She was _glowing,_ her lips parted and swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed from their exertion. Again and again, he found himself thinking that she was absolutely the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“ _I love you_ ,” she whispered, tracing his lips with the pad of her forefinger.

James froze, his expression molded in a _perfect_ representation of surprise. Though he had begun to hope—perhaps even _suspect_ that it might be true, she had never _said_ it before.

Her smile was almost _shy,_ which almost seemed ridiculous considering the position they were still locked in. Soon he shook himself out of his stupefaction, returning her smile, and pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss. “You cannot know how glad that makes me,” he assured her.

She laughed softly, cradling his face in her hands. “Oh my darling.” She smoothed her finger between his brows, the way she did when he was frowning.

 _Had_ he been frowning?

“Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, kissing her again. “A thousand times yes, my love. I believe you.”

By the time Captain Groves delivered Governor Swann to the day cabin of _the Dauntless_ the lovers had managed to compose themselves, though they bore that inexplicable flush that so often they seemed to assume when in one another’s company. Weatherby had not quite managed to puzzle it out, but thought it must be the heat. They’d had a run of bloody hot days, even for Jamaica…

 

XXX

 

James put off his grim news for another day, unable to spoil the long awaited sweetness of hearing Elizabeth declare her love for the first time. He had floated on a cloud the whole rest of the day, and endured a great deal of ribbing from Groves for it besides.

But now he put his nose to the grindstone, scaling the steps of King’s House with a letter bearing ill tidings tucked inside his coat. The butler, Henry, received him but he was not five paces inside the house before Elizabeth flew down the stairs, excited as a child on Christmas to see him so soon.

He wished he bore a gift that would please her; but rather he prayed this would not throw all their happiness on the fire.

“James, what a lovely surprise!” she exclaimed, taking his hands in hers. The butler pretended not to notice the familiarity, and James knew that even if they continued to fool her father, the staff of both their houses was perfectly privy to their affair. Worse yet, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “The pleasure of your company twice in one week. What have I done to merit such luck?”

James could not help but offer her a smile for her warm reception, grim as it was. “I fear…” He sighed. “Let us retire to the parlor. I think it would be best for you to receive this sitting down.”

Elizabeth raised one dark brow in question, but laced her arm through his. “Whatever for, James? What is amiss?” She had not seen his expression so grim since the few moments he’d thought she’d been feasting on poisonous green Ackee fruit, what felt like a lifetime ago.

But he would not answer her until they were seated upon the settee—the very piece of furniture upon which they had made love— _more than once,_ truth be told. Ironically, the letter in his coat had also received such a treatment, having been amongst the papers upon his desk when Elizabeth had waylaid him so perfectly with her irresistible charms.

He drew the report from his coat, reluctant to hand it over. Slowly he explained, “I received this from a merchant captain who makes the run from England to the Caribbean. Its contents may disturb you, sweetheart, but you have the right to see it if you wish. If you prefer, I would condense it for you.”

Elizabeth frowned, but she was not one to shy from a hard task anymore. She held out her hand for the letter, receiving it gingerly. The seal was already broken, and her large eyes scanned down the page quickly as she took it all in.

James watched her closely, his expression a mask for the churning unease he felt inside.

 

_Sir,_

_I regret to inform you that a passenger by the name of William Turner, late of Port Royal, was killed in action during a boarding by pirates on the crossing. Though it was not his duty as a passenger the young man fought for our ship bravely. There were no other casualties, though we watched a ship with black sails glide away with the lion’s share of our sugar, rum, and all the passengers’ valuables. We buried him at sea with all due ceremony. It would oblige me if you would inform what relatives survive him on the island, and pass on my heart-felt regrets._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Captain Thomas Greene_

 

A small frown creased her brows as she read, until inexplicably a wide smile broke like the sun through the clouds, and she even _laughed_ out loud. It was clearly _not_ the reaction James expected, for he appeared utterly shocked by her sangfroid.

Realizing this was not exactly the proper reaction to such news, Elizabeth clasped James’ hand in hers. “Don’t you see?” she gushed. “He isn’t dead. Not really. He’s with Jack. He probably bribed this Captain Greene to claim he’d been killed, so that…” Elizabeth’s gaze raised to meet his, suddenly glistening with unshed tears. “So that we may be _free_ ,” she finished.

 _Free to marry_ , after a sentence of one year of mourning, rather than six and one half more of abandonment.

“Are you _certain_?” His heart thundered in his chest—could it really be true? James frowned, looking down at the letter as though there was some secret message in invisible ink written between the lines But it was all in the context, and Elizabeth read it clear as day.

“I’m positive.” She laughed a little, well aware that she might sound slightly mad. Elizabeth reached up to cradle James’ face in her hands, her thumb smoothing over his dark brow. “Oh my darling. You were afraid I would blame _you_.”

James looked down, unable to meet her eyes as this palpable relief coursed through his blood.

“I feared it might change things between us,” he confessed. “It is one thing to send a man away, but to send him to his death, _quite_ another.”

“Even if it was true, James, and I believe with all my heart it is _not_ , it would not have been your fault, _or_ mine. It would not have changed my love for you _one jot._ ” She kissed him gently, and though it was spectacularly brazen James returned the affection sincerely. He reached up to stroke her cheek, and they sat with their foreheads pressed together for a long time.

“ _One year_ ,” she whispered with wonder, a smile curling her lips. She could hardly believe it was true. “It seems so little, in comparison.”

It did, though James immediately had to restrain himself from thinking of it as 52 weeks, 365 days, or 8760 hours until he could finally ask her once more to be his.

“It does. Though, I would have waited an eternity, for you.”

Elizabeth could not stop herself from pressing her lips to his again in that moment, and the pair became so engrossed in this sweet exchange of affection that they utterly failed to detect the approach of her father. Momentarily the old man was taken aback by such a brazen display in his parlor, though in the end he wasn’t exactly displeased. Had she been a maiden he might have raised a fuss, but as it was…Weatherby tiptoed away, not daring to put down his heels until he was well down the hall.


	6. VI

# VI.

  

Though their sentence had been shortened, time still seemed to pass at a snail’s pace. Now that Elizabeth was in mourning and could not be out in society, conducting their secret liaisons became even more difficult. However, unexpected mercy came from the Governor himself, who invited Commodore Norrington to tea and dinner at King’s house with great frequency. He would even grant the lovers time alone together during these visits, claiming pressing matters in his office or having _accidentally_ booked an appointment with some important figure of the island at the same time James came to tea.

Weatherby was a canny old man, and knew very well that the very moment his daughter’s period of mourning came to an end that he would finally have the son-in-law he had originally hoped for. Though he did not know the exact details or the true extent of how William Turner had spoiled his marriage to Weatherby’s daughter, the Governor knew Elizabeth had been unhappy for far too long. To see her glow in James’ Norrington’s presence was a boon to an aging father’s weary heart, and he slept easily knowing that though he would not be around forever to protect Elizabeth, she would at last be in good and capable hands.

As much as she herself would allow, at any rate.

Of course Commodore Norrington had to set sail in the fulfillment of his duties several times during the course of the year, though his cruises were mostly short and uneventful patrols of Caribbean of a month or less. Naturally, he received orders that would take much longer at precisely eleven months into their revised sentence. Though the American colonies had always been a haven for outcasts, rogues and smugglers, the Governor of Georgia had had enough of the pirate enclave of Savannah and requested assistance in clearing out the nest.

James couldn’t help but wonder if the true source of the Governor’s ire was that he’d been denied a slice of the pie for himself, a problem that was rampant in so many of His Majesty’s colonial outposts. They really were spoiled here on Jamaica by Weatherby Swann.

The night before he was due to sail a scratching at the window roused him from sleep. Flabbergasted, he watched a svelte figure in black climbed through his window, of which he always left unlocked because who would be _mad_ enough to climb that high?

Before he could reach for his pistol the figure removed her hat, golden hair falling down in a wave about her.

“Elizabeth, what are you doing here?” he hissed, the thought of her traipsing about the dark streets alone filling him with a cold shot of dread.

Paying his tone no mind, she continued to remove her clothing, until she stood nude in the beam of moonlight that splashed across his floor. “I needed to see you,” she informed him, crossing the floor to slip beneath the covers with him.

It had been _so long,_ and James involuntarily sighed as she pressed her body against his, his hands reaching for her of their own accord.

“I just left your home not hours ago.” He had dined at the Swann household, a night filled with warm companionship brought to a close by a tearful Elizabeth wishing him a safe return. As much as he hated to see her upset, the display of tenderness had moved him deeply.

“It was not enough.” Her lips brushed his, and James felt his resolve positively _melt._ He had _longed_ to have her here again, in _their_ bed.

“It’s _never_ enough,” he agreed, his hands finding the curve of her waist, her skin like warm silk beneath his questing fingers. “I could spend every day of the rest of my life with you, and it could never be enough.”

Elizabeth whimpered against the bend of his neck, thinking of all the time already wasted because of her juvenile fancy. If only she’d known then what she knew now. As though he sensed her thoughts James pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, eyes, and the tip of her nose. “Shhh, sweetheart, it’s alright. When I return we will finally be together.”

Now the thought of _more_ waiting, _beyond_ the year of mourning, irked her beyond tolerance. And he was leaving, and there were so many things that could happen on the sea between Port Royal and Savannah… With a frustrated growl she tugged at his nightshirt, and he acquiesced to her drawing it over his head, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth as she threw it violently away. “You _must_ come home to me, James Norrington,” she demanded, straddling his hips. The tightness in the back of her throat was audible in her words, and with palms flat upon his chest she pushed him down into the soft mattress. “Promise me?”

James sighed as she rubbed her sex against his already burgeoning erection, her slick heat upon him making lucid thought a very tall order indeed. “ _Promise me_ ,” she demanded again, lowering herself down upon him. He groaned, a guttural sound that was nearly a growl, his large hands travelling to her hips to guide her.

“I promise,” he assured her raggedly. “Not a thing in the world could keep me from you, Elizabeth. _Never_ again.”

Not Spanish galleons or French man-of-war, and especially not some troublesome pirates who made themselves a little _too_ comfortable upon the King’s soil. He would make short work of them, he resolved. Though he was not a man who was particularly _known_ for mercy in a battle, these scallywags would find out exactly how unforgiving the Scourge of Piracy could be.

“ _Good_.” Her voice sounded unsteady, from emotion or the sensation of their bodies joined together, it was hard to say. But no more intelligible words were exchanged as she rode him to their mutual completion. Afterwards, James could not say what was sweeter: their lovemaking, or finally being able to hold her in the comfort and privacy of their own bed. He dozed with Elizabeth folded tightly into his arms, the planes and curves of their bodies fitted neatly as two things that were always meant to meld together.

He did not wake when at some point before dawn she slipped away. In a way he was grateful to not have to say goodbye once more—he did not know how he would have managed to let her go, again.

 

**XXX**

 

James had estimated he would only be gone two months, but the Dauntless did not enter the harbor of Port Royal again until one hundred and eleven excruciatingly long days had passed. Elizabeth could hardly contain herself, pacing the foyer as she awaited her father and for the carriage to be made ready.

Once at the docks she really could not help herself, and she dashed ahead of her father to the gangplank of _the Dauntless_ , finding Lieutenant Groves. “Where is James?” she asked immediately before any pleasantries could be exchanged. Her eyes greedily scanned the decks but found them empty of her lover.

Groves paused too long, an expression upon his handsome visage Elizabeth did not exactly like. Panic spiked down her spine, and inadvertently she moved towards the gangplank. Groves was quicker though, and dared to place staying hands upon her shoulders. “He’s going to be alright,” Groves assured her, wisely choosing to lead with the good news. “But he was shot—”

All color drained from Elizabeth’s face, and never in his life had Groves seen a lady move so quickly. She wrenched free of his grasp and was half up the gangway before he could blink. She dodged the sailors milling down the plank and cut through the bustle on decks, making her way to the great cabin on fleet feet. Another man barred her entrance at the door of his sleeping quarters, a rather frazzled looking man of middling age in an ill-fitting wire wig who Elizabeth recognized as the ship’s surgeon, Dr. Thurston. “My lady, you can’t go in there.”

“The hell I can’t,” she spat, frantic. “I am his intended and I will see Commodore Norrington this instant!” She stamped her foot in emphasis, and the surgeon wore an expression that was a medley of shock and a little fear. This woman _looked_ like a lady but she gave orders like an irate sea captain.

Groves soon appeared behind her, much to the relief of the surgeon. “Lieutenant Groves, perhaps you could…”

“Perhaps you could remove this man, he is in my way,” interjected Elizabeth, trying to step around the corpulent Dr. Thurston, who swayed from side to side to thwart her progress.

A cough came from James’ cabin that might have been a laugh, and the three combatants froze.

“It’s alright,” said a weak voice from within the sleeping quarters. “Let her through, if you please.”

“Sir, I insist you need to rest,” spat Dr. Thurston rather petulantly, perhaps more for spite’s sake now than any basis in medical necessity. He disliked being ordered about enough as it was; from a woman it was _intolerable._

“The company shall be good medicine, I assure you,” said James.

Weatherby joined them then, puffing a little from the brisk walk in the Jamaican heat after Elizabeth. “Oh dear, is it true that the Commodore was wounded?” asked the Governor, worry shining in his eyes.

“Apparently, though the good doctor is reluctant to let us confirm with our own eyes,” said Elizabeth acerbically, glaring in the doctor’s direction.

“For God’s sake, man, let her through,” said Weatherby, waving the doctor aside with his walking stick.

Seeing that he was outranked and thoroughly beaten, Dr. Thurston finally stepped aside. “Do not excite him,” was his parting shot. “His fever only broke yesterday and I won’t have my patient relapse because of a woman’s impatient trifling.”

Elizabeth gave the surgeon a murderous look that sent him scrambling, and entered the night cabin with a swish of skirts. The sight of James in his cot hit her like a dagger to the heart; he looked ragged and pale, dark circles shading his eyes. He was shirtless in bed and a swathe of white bandages was wrapped around his chest and under his arm. But a sparkle entered his emerald eyes as he took in the sight of her, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Hello, darling. Please accept my apologies, I know I must look a fright.” His voice was weak, but his words were sure.

Despite the worry that churned inside her, Elizabeth could not help but smile for the greeting. It was bold, and yet he knew how much she disliked being called by her proper name, Mrs. Turner. Hopefully it was something that could soon be remedied.

“What happened? Was it the pirates?” she demanded, taking his hand in hers. His skin was thankfully cool but clammy to the touch. She pressed her lips to his fingers, and held his palm to her cheek.

“No, we scattered the vermin at Savannah quite thoroughly,” he was pleased to report. “But we had a skirmish with the French on the return voyage. Who we also routed, but I was left with a little souvenir.” He coughed, and winced for the way it jostled his wound. “Did I hear you declare that you are my intended?” By his smile and the light in his eyes she could tell that he was teasing her.

“I may have said that in the heat of panic,” she admitted, wondering if it would cause a stir in society if Dr. Thurston chose to gossip. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time she was at the center of a rumor, she supposed.

James chuckled, and winced again. “Who can blame you for robbing me of the chance to ask you?” he teased. “I made such a botch of it last time.”

Elizabeth, however, did not laugh, a pained expression overtaking her features. “Oh James, it wasn’t so bad. It certainly wasn’t your fault that I fell.”

“I didn’t mean…” He sighed. “Forgive me. My attempt at humor clearly leaves something to be desired.”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “You are home, and thankfully on the mend—I am content.”

His mouth twisted a little, knowing that wasn’t _quite_ the truth. But then, her father was standing right in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really meant for this to be like, a three chapter fic. Four at most... heh. Sorry I'm rambling a bit, but I think there's one more to go. :)


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it might be a good thing to finally finish a fic... :P So here we are, darlings, the final chapter and an epilogue! I hope you enjoy!

# VII.

 

The very day he was able to rise from his sickbed James Norrington called upon the King’s House, dressed in his best uniform. His wound mercifully was healing nicely, and only if one looked closely could the extra padding of the bandages be seen. Medals from various successful actions shone brightly upon his breast, though none managed to outshine the sparkle in his green eyes as he was admitted at the door.

Though Elizabeth very well knew what he intended to ask her, her heart still _pounded_ in her breast with anticipation.

Elizabeth wore a pale green gown with a cream and seed pearl embroidered stomacher embellished with pink satin bows. It was such a _relief_ to be able to wear color again. The gown made her think of new life and spring, and seemed completely appropriate for this particular day.

James watched raptly as she descended the stairs, his hat in hand.

“You are a vision, Elizabeth,” he complimented, bowing over her hand.

“As are you, darling,” she returned, touching one of his medals lightly with a gleam in her eye. They stood in the foyer quietly caught in each other’s eyes for what felt like a good long while. Though both had restlessly awaited this day, now that it was finally upon them they both seemed to wish to savor it. Only a small cough from her father peeking in brought them back into the present. With a sheepish smile James offered Elizabeth his arm, and they went to the front parlor for tea.

Somehow time seemed to slow, and deliciously so. Once, Elizabeth had found this ritual such a boor _,_ but now she savored every moment of this brilliant day. Everything seemed _perfect_ , from the buttery sun shining through the window, to the little forget-me-nots painted onto the china teacups, the brilliant polish upon the silver—James’ sure hands as he accepted a cup from her, the gentleness of his smile. Even her father’s pleased expression caused her joy; for once, her intended path would not cause him excessive worry or social embarrassment.

The trio chatted pleasantly over tea and biscuits, and afterwards James asked if Elizabeth might like to join him in a turn around the garden. Eagerly she agreed, and her father watched them go arm in arm with what may have been a bit of wetness in his eyes.

They passed through the French doors that led them out to the gardens, and James plucked a pink hibiscus bloom as they passed, handing it to Elizabeth with a warm smile. She accepted it without a word, resting her head upon his shoulder as they walked. Their silence was companionable, and James couldn’t help but compare it to the first time he’d led Elizabeth away with this very particular question in mind, when he’d been so nervous that he awkwardly scrambled to fill the void with words that might somehow convey in code the depth of the ardor he felt for her. This time, he did not really have a speech planned; words from the heart would do.

Luckily, there were no high places to be found in the garden, though he did not intend to let go of her just in case.

They paused at a marble bench, and as Elizabeth lowered herself to sit James went to one knee before her. With parted lips and shining eyes Elizabeth watched him, the word _yes_ on the tip of her tongue before he could even begin to speak. He took her hands, so seemingly delicate compared to his, and he couldn’t help but notice, in much better repair than that fateful day upon the cliff when he had pulled her back from the edge of despair.

He kissed her fingers, seeming to gather her thoughts, relishing the sweetness of this moment. When finally he spoke, he said to her in softest tones, “Elizabeth, if you would do me the vast honor of becoming my wife, I swear to you that I will love you unto my dying day.”

She couldn’t help it. Her eyes filled with tears, which thankfully did not _quite_ spill over but she swiped at them all the same. “Oh James. I do not know what I ever did to inspire your devotion, but I count myself as the luckiest of women. Yes, _yes_ I will marry you, and I will love you _always_.”

James broke out into a beatific smile, but before he could respond she pressed her lips to his, with such gusto that he tipped over backwards, and she half fell, half pounced on top of him. A passerby could have heard drifting over the hedge peals of joyful laughter, and _most_ telling silences in between.

Perched upon his chest, Elizabeth looked down at her fiancé, breathless and her lips swollen from their enthusiastic snogging. “I fear I may have ruined your best uniform.”

He only smiled, brushing a stray golden curl out of her face. “I cannot bring myself to care, my lady. _My love._ My Elizabeth.” He craned his neck for another kiss, of which she gladly returned with a small moan.

“Say that again.”

“ _My Elizabeth_ ,” he whispered gladly, loving the texture of those words on his tongue. “I could produce a ring from my pocket, if you would be so kind to allow me.”

Elizabeth raised a dark brow with a wicked smile, glancing down. “That must be _some_ ring!”

_Naughty girl._

The look she paid him did not help matters in the least. But she took mercy upon him, relocating herself to the bench, pulling him up to sit beside her and making a show of brushing grass off his uniform. “Mrs. Featherstone shall have my hide,” she mused.

“Mrs. Featherstone shall be pleased that you have made me the happiest of men,” James assured her. He then presented a leather box lined with cream velvet. Inside perched a small but intricate gold ring, a flower set with pearl petals and a pale emerald in its center, its leaves and foliage forming the band. Around the inside was inscribed the words _My love for thee shall endless be._

“Oh James. It’s _beautiful_. And it’s almost as though you knew what I would be wearing today,” she teased with a sparkle in her eye.

James laughed in kind. “Or you had inside information from Mr. Goldschmidt’s,” he ribbed back. It was the ring he’d had made for her years ago, though she’d never had chance to lay eyes upon it, circumstances as they were. James had taken to carrying it with him to sea, and sometimes late at night in his cabin when he was feeling particularly masochistic he would take it out to gaze upon it.

Elizabeth’s hand trembled as he slid it upon her finger. Perhaps once he would have worried, but now he felt absolutely certain that this tremor in her bones was caused by _excitement_. He felt it too, a thousand fold.

How many times had he looked at the bauble in its little box, imagining what it would look like on her hand? His imagination did the sight no justice. The pearls gleamed in the sunlight, the emerald winking prettily upon her elegant finger. He knew she owned more _imposing_ jewels, but he had not thought she would wish to wear something bulky every day. He did not want to burden her with this promise; he wanted her to wear it gladly, with ease.

Smiling widely, Elizabeth kissed James again. “I shall look at the emerald and be ever reminded of your eyes, darling,” she said. “I love it. Thank you.” She kissed him again, and again, and the sun dipped quite a bit lower in the sky before the newly betrothed couple made their way back into the house to share their news.

 

**XXX**

“These bloody invitations!” Elizabeth growled, feeling quite overwhelmed by the pile of papers, flowers, and fabric swatches before her. “I wish we could forego this nonsense and skip right to the wedding.”

Weatherby paid his daughter an indulgent smile. Elizabeth had been laboring over preparations for the engagement party for the better part of the day, and she was quite ready to have done with it. The wording of the invitations was her Herculean task; though they had waited a small amount of time before announcing their happy news, Elizabeth knew tongues would wag that she was engaged so soon after coming out of mourning and she wanted nothing to do with the gossiping biddies who considered it their right to be feted at every turn in Port Royal. It was all so _ostentatious,_ and Elizabeth would have been happy to run away with James and be done with it.

“Now, now, dear. I know you are exasperated because you have gone through all this before, but it is the first time for James. Doesn’t he deserve a little celebration?”

Immediately Elizabeth’s tone changed, her gaze falling back down to the paper before her. “Of course, Father, I would never wish to rob him of his due celebration.” A soft smile overtook her features, transforming her expression entirely. “It is just…oh Father. I love him _so much,_ and I am _so ready_ to become his wife I would do it this very moment if I could. Forgive me. But you are right.” Her dark brow twitched, an impish smile replacing her dreamy one. “You are _always_ right, it seems, though it sometimes takes me years upon years to realize it.”

Weatherby knew better than to rub _that_ in, though it warmed his heart to hear her admit it. “Perhaps things happen in a certain order for a certain reason, my dear,” he offered. He no doubt thought that the part James played in Elizabeth’s rescue from her farce of a marriage to William Turner had influenced the strength of her feelings now. Had she married the Commodore first as she was supposed to, would such a passion have arisen? Weatherby was well aware that his daughter was the sort who thrived on a certain sense of… _excitement_.

Yet, she had changed over the years, with maturity and perspective. She certainly knew now what a treasure a man like James Norrington was, where before she might have taken him a bit for granted. Weatherby had known from the day James Norrington asked him for Elizabeth’s hand the depth of the devotion the lad felt for his daughter. The poor boy had confessed it more or less outright, stumbling over the words as he had. It was the least composed the Governor had ever occasioned to see the usually stoic Captain, and strangely because of that Weatherby had felt quite assured in giving James Norrington his blessing. Not simply because he would soon be a Commodore, and Elizabeth would have the security any father hoped for his daughter. But because Weatherby felt certain she would be _loved,_ and even if she did not realize it at first, in time he hoped she would find happiness in every way because of it.

“I am sure our Commodore would be happy to marry you immediately as well,” Weatherby teased, “But there are proper steps to these things, Elizabeth. Try to enjoy it, if you can.”

Elizabeth laughed at herself, feeling much calmer as she dipped her pen once more. “I shall, Father. With all my heart, I truly shall.”

 

**XXX**

 

Elizabeth did enjoy their engagement party very much, though it had very little to do with the menu, the decorations, her beautiful new green gown, or the guests. James Norrington, resplendent in his best uniform (put to rights by Mrs. Featherstone again) was very much to blame, in conjunction with a small but scintillating amount of time spent hidden away in an unused room of the King’s House. The feted couple spent the rest of the evening exchanging dreamy looks and grinning like fools across the ballroom, for which James received no small amount of ribbing from Theodore Groves.

For once, James was _far_ too happy to pay his impish Lieutenant any mind.

 

**XXX**

 

The wedding took place upon the _Dauntless_ on a bright and cloud-free day, the great fighting ship lent a festive air festooned with bunting and tropical flowers. All morning long Marines in their red coats could be seen traipsing down the docks with armfuls of blooms and decorations. By noon the wedding party was ready to make sail.

Elizabeth and her ladies commandeered the great cabin for the bridal preparations.

James awaited his bride upon the quarterdeck, resisting the urge to look at his watch every minute. Usually he was a patient man, but after waiting _so long,_ he felt anxious to finally call Elizabeth his in name as well as heart. But it was a fine day, the wind was fair, and Theo assumed the responsibility of handling the _Dauntless_ on their pleasure cruise while the Commodore was otherwise occupied.

When at last Elizabeth appeared James stood dumbfounded, stuck to the spot. Though it was her second wedding Elizabeth defiantly chose to wear blue and ivory silk, a crown of flowers and strings of pearls braided in her hair. More pearls adorned her ears and a double strand encircled her throat, a wedding gift from James that became her _ridiculously_ well. She veritably _glowed_ , and when her dark eyes met his James felt his insides melt all over again.

He hardly noticed as the quartet began to play, or the parson clearing his throat in a reminder that the bridegroom should probably shut his mouth, lest he catch a bug in it. All he could focus on was _her_ , up until Weatherby escorted her to the makeshift altar and her hands were firmly clasped in his. She smiled up at him, radiant as the sun above, and in that moment James felt the richest man in the world.

The rest seemed to pass in a blur, the sermon and the repeating of the lines spoken by the parson, the exchange of vows and gold rings, up until the binding kiss that lingered perhaps a tad longer than was _exactly_ decent.

Then the real party began, and it went on long after the _Dauntless_ moored at the docks once more. The sun set, and lanterns were lit along the rigging, lending the ship a warm and dreamlike glow. There was music and dancing, toasting and much laughter. But Elizabeth was relieved when the time finally came to retire.

“The hour is late, _Mrs. Norrington_ ,” said James gently, and Elizabeth smiled, tilting her head for a kiss the Commodore gladly granted.

She could not help but think back on the road they had travelled to arrive at this moment. The numerous times James had said those words to her, and the last time that proved such a _momentous_ upheaval in her life.

 _My God,_ how she loved this man. With all her heart, with her every fibre, and she would spend the rest of her life making certain he knew it.

“Take me home, my darling _husband_?”

His smile shone bright as the lanterns hanging above.

After she embraced her father and received a cheeky kiss from Lieutenant Groves, James handed his bride up into the waiting carriage. The ride passed in a contented silence, Elizabeth’s head upon James’ shoulder, their fingers laced tightly. Both were exhausted from the day’s proceedings, though both still felt an electric anticipation for what was to come.

When they arrived at James’ home— _their home—_ James swept her up into his arms and carried her over the threshold. For all the voluminous layers of her gown, she felt so _tiny_ in his arms. It was the second time she had entered this house in this way, though this time the circumstances were infinitely happier. She thought he would put her down but the Commodore surprised her by bearing her all the way up the stairs.

“Would you like Estrella to help you out of your gown?” he asked quietly, pausing at the entrance to the room that adjoined his and was to be Elizabeth’s personal chamber.

Elizabeth bit her lip in a way James found _most_ enticing, and she fingered the fine linen of his neck cloth, tugging it a little free. Perhaps it was not exactly conventional, and though she had packed a rather diaphanous nightrail for this occasion—she didn’t want to be separated from him for even a _minute_ , this night. “If you do not feel up to the task of untying me,” she teased, and there was a challenge that sparkled in her mahogany brown gaze.

James’ emerald green eyes narrowed, recognizing that his wife had thrown down a gauntlet before him. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he swiftly bundled her off to his room. “You are in luck, madam, for I have had _years_ of training in the art of knots and I feel equal to the task,” he fired back, winning a laugh filled with delight, and a kiss filled with promise of things to come.

He set her down beside the bed, and immediately she reached for him again, her hands sliding over his shoulders to push off his coat as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Usually he was one to hang up his clothing immediately, but this night he did not care as it hit the floor. Next she reached for his wig, unpinning it carefully and setting it upon the bedside table. “Ah, _there_ you are,” she said softly, running her fingers through his short-cropped dark hair.

James cupped her face in his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs before leaning down to kiss her lips, her chin, and the long length of her neck. She tilted back her head with a happy sigh, arching against him. With sure hands James turned her in his arms, unlacing her dress between languorous kisses upon the back of her neck and shoulders that made her knees _weak_. In some places she was not only trussed but sewn into her finery, but the Commodore made short work of that too with a small knife from the bedside table.

Quit of her heavy gown, James turned Elizabeth again, lifting her to perch on the edge of their bed. He drank in the sight of her, his hands finding their way beneath her petticoats to caress the silky skin of her thighs. She was so beautiful, so _perfect,_ and he wanted to lose himself in the soft comfort of her body for the rest of his days. Every nerve in his body sang, demanded that he take her after waiting _so long._

He made himself wait, savoring the sweet agony, kneeling at her feet to unfasten one clocked silk stocking, sliding it slowly down the curve of her calf. He kissed the skin he bared reverently, and Elizabeth found she was holding her breath until he reached her knee and _stopped,_ moving to the other leg. “ _James, you will drive me mad_ ,” she sighed, leaning back on her elbows into the cloud of a bed. She felt his answering smile against her skin, and knew he was relishing pushing her to the edge of her sanity.

Perhaps it was only fair.

However, this time he took mercy upon her after removing her other stocking, his kisses trailing higher and higher. He felt as though he delved into the petals of a precious flower, moving soft petticoats aside until he found her pretty pink center. He kissed her, _there_ , winning a panting cry of his name that filled him to bursting with something fierce and _hot_. All his love for her, his desire, his _triumph_ in winning her after so very long. When he drew away he earned another oath that sounded distinctly like a word one would not use in polite company.

His mouth twisted in a half smile.

“James!”

“Patience, my love. All in good time.”

“I don’t understand _how_ you can wait!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “All I want to do is _devour_ you.” She reached for him, quickly undoing the top two buttons of his tunic as she kissed him greedily, tasting herself on his mouth.

“I am used to it, I suppose,” he mused, pushing her back down onto the bed with his body upon hers. He proceeded to kiss her silly, even as she wrapped her long legs around his waist, undulating her hips against his in a message that was hard to misinterpret. Her hands insinuated between their bodies, continuing their work on his buttons as far as she could reach.

“ _Please,_ ” she pleaded when she reached this dead end, unable to strip him further with him laying on top of her. The weight of him upon her was _delicious,_ but the layers of clothing that still separated them were _intolerable._ “Are you going to make me _beg?_ ”

There was a glitter of mischief in James’ eyes at that suggestion, and he laced his fingers with hers, holding her hands above her head. “Would you?” he asked playfully, trailing kisses down her throat. “My proud goddess, would you beg for _me_?”

A strangled cry escaped her as he nudged the loose neckline of her chemise down, baring one breast for his delectation. Her nipple peaked into a sharp point as he laved it with his tongue, sucked and grazed her with his teeth lightly. The ache she felt in the cradle of her hips in that moment was nearly too much to bear, and she squeezed him with her legs once more. “ _Please_?” she panted again, hardly able to form coherent thought as he blew upon the rosy tip of her nipple, sending gooseflesh marching across her body. “Please, I _need…”_

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he taunted, as if he did not know.

“I need _you._ I need your bare skin against mine and your magnificent cock buried inside me, you _infuriating_ man!”

James laughed for the fire that entered her tone at the end of her tirade, and finally he took mercy upon her, his large hands sweeping down the length of her body and taking her petticoats with them. She practically clawed at her chemise, so desperate to have it off before James could torment her more. When she reached for the clasp of her necklace James held up a hand, requesting, “Leave it.” She complied, moved by the way he looked upon her, his quick gaze taking her in hungrily, from the crown of her golden head to her bare toes. “You _are_ the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said reverently, and her expression softened to wonder once more.

“Come here? _Husband?_ ” she said softly, scooting to the middle of the bed and holding out her arms to him. Eager to join her, James made quick work of the rest of his clothing. He was considerably easier to undress than she, truth be told. He crawled onto the bed to meet her, catching her pouting mouth with his.

“My sweet _wife,”_ he sighed against her skin, still hardly able to fathom it was true. “ _Love of my life_.”

She melted as he settled down upon her once more, her legs tangling with his. “ _I love you._ ” She said it against his skin like a prayer between kisses upon the column of his throat, his collarbone, his chest. She maneuvered her hips to just the right position, his tip hovering at her entrance. She strained for him but again he held himself back. “ _James…”_ The frustration in her tone was palpable.

“Look at me?” he asked, and she turned those large dark eyes up to him. With gazes locked he finally began to slide inside her, their eye contact paired with this ultimate intimacy invoking an _electric_ energy between them. In the end not even James could hold his eyes open, and he groaned as he buried himself completely inside her, his forehead pressed to hers. “ _God,_ Elizabeth…” He began to thrust and greedily she moved her hips to meet his, clutching him to her, holding him close as she possibly could. “ _My Elizabeth.”_

 _“Yes,”_ she answered, her teeth grazing the hollow of his throat. “ _Always_.”

Knowing he did not have much control left, James flipped them, his thumb finding her center as she rode on top of him. It was her turn to tease, slowing their pace and sliding her body to the very tip of him before engulfing his cock once more. The intensity of the sensation as he touched her took her by surprise, and she came unexpectedly, her body clenching deliciously upon his, the wave of pleasure that crashed through her tearing a scream from her throat. James followed immediately behind her, spilling deep inside her body with her name on his lips, his hands locked upon her hips so hard there would possibly be bruises.

“Oh God,” she panted, collapsing upon him. “ _Oh James.”_

Shakily he reached up to cradle her head in his hand, kissing her forehead and holding her close. They lay panting and helpless, unable to move for what felt like hours, happily stuck in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking.

When Elizabeth finally thought she could walk without her legs falling out from under her she kissed James and slid from the bed, excusing that she needed to take her hair down. The flowers in her crown of braids would wilt and stain the pillows. He watched lovingly as she appropriated his dressing table, scattering it with pins and blooms as she worked to undo her hair. Much to his curiosity, she then disappeared into the next room, and he could hear her rifling in her things, which had been delivered earlier that day.

When she emerged she held a wooden box in hand, and she climbed back into bed with him, snuggling under his arm.

“What is this?” he asked as she handed him the box, resting her head upon his shoulder.

“Your wedding gift. Open it.”

He flipped the mother of pearl catch to find a gleaming golden compass and astronomical compendium inside, a very fine piece of navigational equipment with his monogram engraved upon one side. Around the outside edge was engraved _Fair winds, my love, upon the sea, Take this and always return unto me._

He paid her a wide smile, pressing a lingering kiss to her swollen lips. “How lovely, darling, thank you. I will treasure it always.”

She smiled impishly. “You’re not done yet, silly, flip it over.” He did so, and found a scene of a sailing ship that looked strikingly like the _Dauntless_ engraved upon the other side. She flipped a secret catch, and the back sprung open, revealing a hidden compartment in which sat a painted miniature portrait of Elizabeth on ivory. It was an exceptional likeness, her bow of a mouth pulled in a little smile, as though they shared a private joke together.

“Just in case you need a reminder of what awaits you at home,” she teased, and he caught her mouth in a second more fervent kiss.

“As if I could _ever_ forget, my love,” he assured her, safely stowing the compass away before pulling her back into his arms. “My _darling_.” He kissed her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “ _My beautiful wife._ ”

Her smile seemed to hold all the joy in the world, and she snuggled against his chest. “You make me the happiest woman in the world, James.”

He vowed to make it his mission that it would always be so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ever since watching The Little Mermaid I always thought it would be cool AF to get married on a ship... haha.  
> *A note on the ring, bc I'm kinda an antique jewelry nerd... Diamonds in engagement rings weren't really a THING until say the turn of the century.  
> Sorry for the long wait. Writing schmoopy wedding scenes isn't usually my thing, but it just seemed like this fic needed that. ;) I just want to say thank you everyone who had read this far, and of course a thousand thank yous for your comments! They make my day!


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

# Epilogue

 

Elizabeth woke to the sensation that she was being watched. She lifted her head from the pillow, to find a pair of large green eyes peeking just over the edge of the tall bed. His dark hair was sleep tousled, curling at the ends, and she reached out to stroke his head.

“Jamie dear? Why are you out of bed?”

“Mamma,” the boy whispered. “Can I sleep with you?”

She nodded, reaching out to lift the little boy up. Elizabeth held her son close, kissing his soft hair. She had never imagined it was possible to love so _fiercely,_ as she loved her son. Once she had pitied the women who were flung into motherhood at such a young age, finding their lives unbearably dull, even when she’d been married to a _blacksmith._ But now she understood their joy _perfectly_ well.

“Are you having nightmares again?” she asked.

“No. But there are pirates under my bed.”

She chuckled a little at that, laying him down in the warm hollow between she and her slumbering husband.

“Well, it just so happens that you’re in luck, young man. For who do we have here in our very own house to protect us, but the _Scourge of Piracy_ himself?”

James stirred, flipping onto his side to face his young son with a sleepy sigh. “Has _someone_ been putting you to bed with tales of pirates again?” he asked, taking the boy’s tiny hand, paying a sliding glance to his wife.

“No…” said Jamie, instinctively covering for his mother. James chuckled, knowing the truth very well, and also knowing that Jamie insisted on such tales which his Mamma told with such relish.

“Who is under your bed this time, might I ask?”

“Blackbeard.”

Even in the twilit shadows, Elizabeth could see James suppressing a laugh.

“Why, that’s impossible!” exclaimed Elizabeth theatrically. “Remember I told you, how your Papa captured him off the coast of Carolina? Blackbeard sails the seas no more.”

“No. He’s there,” insisted young Jamie, and Elizabeth and James exchanged a knowing look over the boy’s dark head.

“Well then, we had best ferret him out,” said James, and the trio got out of bed, well used to this ritual. James picked up his young son, holding the boy close.

“Don’t forget the sword,” insisted Jamie, the command sounding incongruously sweet in his small high voice.

“Ah, but of course,” said James, his voice thick with sleep. It was everything Elizabeth could do to suppress her laughter, watching her tall husband lead the way down the hall in his nightshirt, their small son in one arm and his dress sword in the other hand. The surge of love she felt for both of them in that moment made her chest feel tight, as though her heart might _burst_.

Their nurse was fairly mortified, and apologized profusely for Jamie slipping out to disturb their rest, but James waved her off as he handed Jamie to Elizabeth. “Not to worry, Miss Brown, just a routine check for phantom pirates.” The Admiral was _extremely_ indulgent of his young son, especially when just returned from a tour of duty.

The show only improved, as James went about the nursery and theatrically checked behind every curtain, under the bureau, and the bed, with bare blade in hand. Jamie smiled and giggled, his head buried in the crook of Elizabeth’s neck. Elizabeth would have liked to let out a proper belly laugh herself for the sight, but somehow abstained, trembling a little with her contained mirth.

_How she loved this man._

“I believe it is safe to say the room is clear,” declared James with a hand on his hip and sword resting upon his shoulder, surveying the nursery with sharp eyes. “What say you, Jamie?”

The little boy nodded, and allowed Elizabeth to lay him back down in his bed. After a kiss from his Mamma and Papa they bid him and Miss Brown goodnight, and returned to their room.

“I wonder why it’s always _Blackbeard_ ,” murmured James sleepily, opening his arms to his wife. She snuggled up against him, placing a hand over his heart.

“Well, I left out the part of the story that he was _hanged until dead_. Seemed a bit much for a lad of four. Perhaps he found the story open ended.”

James chortled. “ _You_ would have loved to hear a story of a proper hanging at four, I would wager.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “But he’s only _half_ me, James. Would you have relished such a story at a tender age?”

“Not in the least. But my father and brothers spoke of hangings constantly.”

“Hmm. Then you are saying I should end my stories in your Father’s style for Jamie’s peace of mind?” Somehow, Elizabeth did not think it was the case.

“No, no.” Mention of his father rendered James pensive, and he mused, “Had I disturbed my father’s rest in his room as a child he would have whipped me. No, I do not aspire to follow his example.”

Elizabeth kissed his cheek. “I think I rather prefer _your_ example,” she assured him. “You are a fine father, James.”

Four years and some months ago, James had returned from a tour to find his glowing wife awaiting him at the docks, her belly shockingly plump. He had entered this marriage without the expectation of children, for the circumstances of her previous marriage, and Elizabeth was _more_ than enough to make him the happiest of men. Yet he could not hide his surprise or his delight, grinning like a fool as he placed his large hand upon her belly.

 _You know this means Jack Sparrow was right about one thing,_ she’d said with a smirk, winning a puzzled look from her husband. She went on to clarify, _Will Turner must really be a eunuch._

James had tried not to laugh, but in the end failed miserably, and had dipped his wife over his arm with a kiss that scandalized the entire dock.

When Elizabeth began to kiss his neck in that _certain_ way that signaled she would be receptive to his overtures James sighed, simultaneously exhausted and overflowing with the gentle happiness his wife and son inspired at every turn. As if the unexpected second chance to win the hand of the love of his life was not enough good fortune, young Jamie was the most indescribably precious gift in his life.

“The hour is late, Mrs. Norrington,” he teased, but returned her kisses with growing ardor, the sleep clearing from his brain as it was replaced with other warmer things.

“So it is,” she answered, an impish smile in place. She nibbled upon his chin, winning a groan in the timbre that let her know she would have her way with him in the end. “But I was wondering if perhaps you might like to get me with child again, Admiral?”

James turned onto his side, pulling her close into the curve of his body. “You want a whole _crew_ to terrify with pirate stories, eh?” he teased, the thought of a line of children following Elizabeth down the beach warming his heart to no end. Perhaps _a line_ was bit too ambitious—a raucous mob, perhaps would be more likely. He smiled against her mouth at the thought, his hand wandering down the length of her body to find the hem of her nightrail.

Elizabeth laughed, her eyes sparkling with joy in the dark, and she reached up to trace the lines of his face lovingly. “So that you may chase the shadows away for us all with the brilliance of your light,” she told him, kissing his cheek.

And though he humbly scoffed, it was true. James Norrington was a decorated officer and considered a hero in their colony for the devotion with which he protected Jamaica from the threats of the sea. Yet it was the smaller deeds, the details of which most would never know, that made him a hero in Elizabeth’s eyes. James had rescued her in every way a woman could be rescued, beginning on that fateful stormy day upon the cliff when he snatched her back from the edge of darkness.

“I love you, James Norrington,” she sighed, tilting her head back into the pillow as he kissed her throat.

“Still?” he teased, and she could feel his gentle smile against her skin.

“ _Always_ ,” she promised, clutching him to her. “Forever.”

With an answering warmth blooming in his heart, the Admiral found he _very much_ believed her, and counted himself the _luckiest_ of men indeed.

 

# THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments, they make my day!!


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